I believe that political correctness can be a form of linguistic fascism and it sends shivers down the spine of my generation who went to war against fascism.
Where does discontent start? You are warm enough but you shiver. You are fed yet hunger gnaws you. You have been loved but your yearning wanders in new fields. And to prod all these there's time the Bastard Time.
Recently I heard a 'wise guy' story that I had a party at my home for twenty-five men. It's an interesting story but I don't know twenty-five men I'd want to invite ta a party.